She could hear hammer on metal far away, and imagined it bending hot steel to shape, sparks flying down around the forgers’ feet. She wondered if she, herself, could be shaped into something more beautiful, one stroke at a time; if each pounding by life’s circumstances could make her as delicately strong as an iron spiral.
The hammer sound stopped, then. She wished she had recorded it so she could play it back, as a reminder, on bleak days. She wanted to hold its rhythm as close as a shield to protect from the most punishing situations.